Finished with the chains, Mom walks out onto the lake and peers closely at the edge where ice and land meet. I look too. There’s a layer of slush on top of the ice. She slides her foot through it, then moves farther out and jumps a few times.
“Should be okay,” she finally says.
“Should be?” I echo anxiously.
She smiles. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I wouldn’t attempt to drive on it if I thought it was unsafe.” She hops back to shore and links her arm through mine. “So let’s get going. I want to make Pauingassi tonight, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”
When I climb back into the truck, my entire body is clenched. I’m not sure if that’s from bracing myself against the cold or because I’m nervous about driving on the lake. Despite Mom’s assurances, I’m still worried. The truck could break down, we could hit a weak spot in the ice, or we could run into bad weather. And it’s not like we can call a tow truck to rescue us. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
“Don’t buckle up,” Mom says, when I reach for my seat belt. “And open your window. Just to be safe. Nothing is going to happen, but we want to be able to exit the truck quickly—if we have to.”
My head whips round toward her, and my stomach does a couple of somersaults. Everything is fine, but get ready to bail. Talk about mixed messages. If my mother is trying to put me at ease, she’s not succeeding. “Right,” I mutter as I let go of my seat belt. Then I roll down my window and grab hold of the door.
As the truck moves onto the frozen lake, I hold my breath and wait for us to plunge through the ice. If we’re going down, please let it be while we’re still close enough to make it back to shore.
I keep one eye on the ice road and the other on the side mirror, and even though it’s too dark to see anything, I mentally cling to the memory of land behind us.
As we push on into the night, I feel like I’m in a Star Trek movie. Except for the light thrown by the semi’s headlights, we’re surrounded by darkness and boldly going where no one has gone before. Well, at least we’re going where I haven’t gone before. As we crawl through the darkness, the ice road shows itself a bit at a time, appearing ahead of us and then disappearing behind, adding to my sense of floating in space.
The ice road is many times wider than the snow road, but we drive down the center of it, well away from the snowbanks that define its boundaries. When I ask why, Mom says the windrows—that’s trucker talk for snowbanks—weaken the ice.
“So why have them?” I ask.
“They guide us across the lake, for one thing,” she says, “and they help keep blowing snow from drifting onto the road.”
It has started to get foggy, almost like steam rising off the lake, so visibility is getting to be an issue. If anything, Mom drives slower than ever, but she doesn’t stop. Even I know stopping is a big no-no on an ice road. The concentrated weight of a loaded truck in one spot can cause the ice to give out. As it is, it’s groaning and popping, which does nothing to relieve my anxiety.
I had expected the road to head straight across the lake, but it actually veers right. As we make the slight turn, the lights of a vehicle coming up behind us reflect in the mirror on my side of the truck. The fact that the vehicle is getting closer tells me it’s traveling way faster than we are, and soon it’s right on our tail. It’s another semi.
The blare of its horn rips the night, setting my heart thumping madly in my chest.
“What the—” Mom growls, splitting her attention between the road and her rearview mirror. “What the hell is this guy playing at? Is he crazy? He’s way too close. And he’s moving way too fast. Is he trying to kill us all?”
I sure hope not, but I don’t say anything. I’m pretty sure my mom isn’t expecting an answer.
The horn sounds again—longer this time. And then a third time.
“What is your problem, jerk?” she yells at her rearview mirror.
“I think he’s going to pass,” I say.
“Only an idiot would pass on an ice road if he didn’t have to.”
“Maybe he does.”
Mom doesn’t answer. She just keeps driving and checking her mirror.
But the guy doesn’t back off, and he’s soon even with us and traveling fast for being on an ice road. In a few seconds he barrels past. Then all I can see are his taillights.
“Hang on!” There’s alarm in Mom’s voice, so I do what she says, though I don’t know why.
And then I do. Within seconds, the ice starts to heave and roll under us like we’re on a water bed.
“What is that?” I scream, getting set to jump out of the truck.
“Hang on!” Mom says again. “Don’t panic.” I notice she’s gripping the steering wheel as tightly as I am the door. “That idiot trucker set off a mini tidal wave under the ice.”
“What?” I scream again.
“Stay calm,” she says through gritted teeth. “If we need to abandon the truck, I’ll let you know.” After what feels like forever but is probably less than a minute, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I think we’re okay.”
Hopefully, she’s right. The ice does seem to have stopped moving, though I’m not yet willing to let go of the door handle. As I watch the shiny red semi disappear into the fog ahead, I start to shake.
Chapter Eight
We roll into Little Grand Rapids around midnight. Mom’s original plan was to carry on to Pauingassi, but she changes her mind and calls it a day. I think she’s as freaked out about what happened out on the lake as I am.
“You need your sleep,” she says.
I am tired, but I feel guilty about putting her behind schedule. If she weren’t concerned about me, she’d probably push on.
Little Grand Rapids has shut down for the night, so we park the truck—leaving the motor running so we don’t freeze—and crawl into a skinny double bed that pulls down from the back wall of the cab. It’s definitely cramped quarters, but I guess I’m not too particular, because I’m dead to the world in a matter of seconds.
I would probably sleep around the clock, except Mom doesn’t let me.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” She pokes me.
Since it’s just as dark as when I closed my eyes, I can’t help wondering if it’s still night.
She nudges me again. “We have to get moving. Wash your face and take your insulin. I’ve put out some breakfast for you.”
So it is morning. Darn. I could use more sleep. Nevertheless, I push myself to a sitting position, stretch and yawn. “What time is it?”
“Almost six. If we hit the road in the next fifteen minutes, we can make Pauingassi by eight and be back in Winnipeg tonight. It’ll be another long day, but at least we’ll be on track again.”
“Hey, look.” I squint out the window and point to a semi on the other side of the parking lot. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t here last night.”
“It’s Harvey and Finn,” Mom says. She waves a piece of paper at me. “They left us a note. They want to meet up at the truck stop again on the way back.”
“Will there be time?” I feel my hopes climb.
She shakes her head. “I left a reply on their windshield with our regrets.”
Rats! I think, though I don’t say anything. But just in case my disappointment shows in my face, I lower my head and start rummaging through my backpack for my insulin.
Pauingassi is pretty much like Little Grand Rapids but a third the size. Simple wood-sided buildings huddle together in sparse clearings. There are no gas stations, high-rises or fast-food joints. No movie theaters, neon signs or bustling shops. The biggest structure is the school. I’m astounded that anyone even tries to live in this place. It’s way too barren and remote for me. Cell phones don’t even work. I could never survive here, and yet hundreds of people are doing exactly that.
“It’s so bleak and desolate,” I say. “Why would people want to live somewhere like this? How do they earn a living?”
Mom shrugs. “They
hunt and fish and harvest wild rice. And they help build the winter roads each year.”
“That’s it?”
She nods. “It’s a hard life by our standards for sure, but these people value a oneness with nature and the elements. It’s a cultural thing.”
“Okay, but they still need food and clothes and fuel for their homes,” I point out. “How do they get supplies when there’s no winter road?”
“Not easily,” she says. “Helicopters, floatplanes and boats are their only links to the rest of Manitoba during the warmer months. They can get the basics but not the big things.”
I think about what that must be like as we pull up to the only store in Pauingassi and park beside a shiny red semi.
Mom instantly begins to mutter. “It’s that jackass from the truck stop—the same moron who caused the ice roll on Round Lake. I’m going to tear such a strip off him, he’s not going to know what hit him. He won’t be messing with me again anytime soon.”
Having lived with my mother for nearly seventeen years, I have no doubt she means what she says. I almost feel sorry for the guy.
When we hop out of the truck and head inside to announce ourselves to the storekeeper, who should we bump into but Dwayne Bradley, owner of the red semi. He’s carrying a thermos—of coffee, I assume, since he looks like he hasn’t slept.
“Hey,” he grins. “Fancy meeting you ladies in this tropical paradise. Looks like it’s going to be another warm day. I hope you brought your swimsuits. Don’t lounge around too long though. You might not get back to the big city until next winter.” He grins at his own joke, offers us a salute and prepares to continue on his way.
But Mom steps into his path. “Not so fast, hotshot,” she growls. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
He takes a step back, and his eyebrows shoot up. He’s clearly not accustomed to being called out—at least, not by a woman. I find that surprising. From what I’ve seen of the guy, I’m guessing he ticks people off on a regular basis.
He clearly knows what Mom is talking about, though, because he nods and looks away. “You’re mad about me for passing you on Round Lake,” he says. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but it was sort of an emergency.”
Aha! That’s what I’d said.
“An emergency? Uh-huh.” Mom’s tone says she’s more than a little skeptical. “Care to elaborate? As I recall, you were hauling lumber. Was there midnight construction planned for something?”
He ignores the sarcasm. “At the last minute I was asked to pick up a part for the school furnace. They’ve been out of heat for a couple of days already, and even though there are no classes right now, they were worried about the pipes freezing. I was supposed to be in Pauingassi by dinnertime, but I was held up in Bloodvein, waiting for the part.”
“That doesn’t excuse your reckless driving on the lake,” Mom says, though I notice there’s not as much venom in her tone as before. “Do you realize you caused an ice wave?”
From the expression on Dwayne’s face, I’m guessing he didn’t. “Seriously?” he sputters. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Really. I never thought—”
“That’s the problem,” Mom says, refusing to cut him any slack. “You didn’t think. Maybe you should start. You’re not the only one driving these roads, you know. Risk your own life all you want, but don’t take the rest of us down with you. My daughter was in my truck!”
“I’m really, really sorry,” he says again. “Really.”
“Right.” Mom is clearly unconvinced.
Message sent, we carry on to the store. When we come out again, Dwayne and his semi are gone, and the unloading of the truck begins. While the storekeeper waves his arms and shouts directions, Mom passes boxes down to a couple of guys who’ve been recruited to move them inside. Most of the cartons contain food, cleaning supplies and paper products. But there are some medical supplies too—first-aid stuff, headache tablets, cold and flu remedies—that sort of thing. As I watch the parade of boxes moving from truck to store, I can’t help thinking of the semi as a giant cornucopia. No matter how many trips the guys make, it still seems full.
But then I think about how long these supplies have to last, and I start to wonder if the community will have enough to get them through the rest of the winter. It could be weeks—maybe months—before planes will be able to bring in anything. During that time, Pauingassi and Little Grand Rapids will be completely isolated.
Knowing I’m going to be cooped up in the semi all day, I want to stay mobile as long as I can, so I tag along behind Mom as she and the storekeeper head inside to deal with the paperwork.
“Are you heading back to Winnipeg?” he asks Mom.
“Yup,” she replies. “This is a quick trip. I have to pick up another load tomorrow morning.”
“Well, good luck to you,” the storekeeper says. “The forecast is for record high temps today. If this weather keeps up, the road won’t be safe for longer than two or three more days. At this rate, we might not see you again until next year.”
“Will that work for you?” Mom asks.
He grins. “It might have to.”
As Mom and I head onto the road again, I’m caught up in my thoughts. First, I’m amazed at how the people who live here survive. It takes a brand of guts and determination I’m not sure I have. Second, I’m impressed by the truckers who travel the dangerous winter roads, because they are the only lifeline communities such as Pauingassi and Little Grand Rapids have. Without truckers like my mom, life here wouldn’t be possible.
Chapter Nine
The winter road looks completely different by day. Last night, all I could see was the ribbon of packed snow illuminated by the semi’s headlights. Other than that, the world was a suffocating black. But now trees rise up around us on every side, dwarfing the skinny man-made trail and making me more aware than ever that we are in the wilderness, and Mother Nature is in control.
“Do you ever get nervous driving the winter roads?” I ask my mother.
“I’m respectful of them,” she says, “but I’m also prepared. So no, I’m not usually nervous. If I had truck trouble I couldn’t fix, or if I was caught in a storm, I’d be fine until another vehicle came along. Remote as the area is, it still gets traffic.”
I point to the remains of a rusted camper in the trees off to the side. “Looks like not everyone makes it out.”
Mom shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “Some people use the winter roads to get rid of derelict cars, rotting boats and other trash.”
“The wilderness isn’t a garbage dump.”
“Unfortunately, not everyone thinks that way.”
“Why don’t they get arrested or fined?”
“The authorities have to catch them first, and there just isn’t the manpower. But all that’s going to change. The government is in the process of building permanent roads and bridges to link all the remote communities in the province. Increased traffic should help cut down on illegal dumping.”
“You mean they’re building honest-to-goodness real roads?”
She nods. “Yes. Within the next twenty-five years, the ice and snow roads in Manitoba will be a thing of the past. And that’s a good thing.”
“What’s that?” I sit up and point to a splotch of red in the middle of the road. As we get closer, I can see a smear of red leading away from the main stain and ending beside a brown mound on Mom’s side of the truck.
“Dead deer,” she says. “My guess is it had a run-in with a vehicle—and lost. Not that long ago either.”
We exchange looks, and although I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking the same thing, neither of us says a word. We haven’t passed any vehicles since leaving Pauingassi, and there was only one heading out on the road before us—a shiny red semi.
Deer get hit by cars and trucks every day. They dart out of the bush and onto the road before drivers can react. I know that. And yet I’m not willing to give Dwayne Bradley the benefit of the doubt. In my m
ind, his recklessness is what killed the deer. The guy only cares about himself. So I’m a bit concerned that Mom and I have to drive behind him. If he’s speeding, he could chew the winter road to bits, and that would not be good news for us. I’m especially worried about the damage he might do to Round Lake. If he breaks the ice before we get there, we’ll be stranded.
“I can’t believe how hot it is.” I fan myself and peel off my jacket.
Mom adjusts the heat in the cab. “The forecast is for a high of fifteen today. That’s really warm for mid-March. If this mini heat wave continues, the winter roads will shut down. I’m glad we’re heading home.”
As we pass Little Grand Rapids, we see Harvey and Finn fueling up their semi, getting ready to head out. Mom lays on the horn. They look up, smile and wave. I wave too and then sigh and lean back in my seat. So much for getting to know Finn. I’ll probably never see him again.
The return drive is pretty uneventful, which is fine with me. The sun is shining, and Mom and I are gabbing and laughing as we make our way back toward Bloodvein. At lunchtime, we park in a pull-off and eat. Things between us feel more like they used to, and I’m happier than I’ve been since before my dad died.
The sun is already low and has lost its heat by the time we reach Round Lake. Considering that Dwayne got here ahead of us, I half expect to see broken ice floating haphazardly over the surface of the lake. I imagine Mom and me abandoning the truck and hopping across the floes to reach the other side. I don’t share this thought with my mother though. Actually, the ice looks as solid as it did when we drove across it last night. Even so, I undo my seat belt and hang on to the door handle.
“We’re making good time,” Mom says as she eases the semi onto the lake. “At this rate we could be home at a reasonable hour.”
Winter Road Page 4
